Don't You Ever Forget About Me
by logicaltribbles
Summary: Max Caulfield never asked for any of this, but now she has to live with herself. And that's the most difficult thing she'll ever have to do. (A series of drabbles in which Max finds closure, and helps others find it, too)
1. Polarized

Max doesn't move for a long time. She just sits, curled up on a dirty bathroom floor with silent tears streaming down her face, listening to Nathan Prescott as he tries to undo what can not be undone.

Someone must have heard the gunshot, because after what feels like an eternity, David storms into the bathroom, yelling for Nathan to get on the ground. He does of course, and he's begging for mercy like the coward he is. _I didn't mean to! It was an accident! It was self-defense!_ ** _Bullshit._** She hears handcuffs, some rustling, and Nathan is led out of the bathroom, crying like a child.

Then it's just her, and Chloe, and the crushing self-hatred she'll have to live with forever.

* * *

The cops arrive to investigate the scene. They find Max, head in her arms and knees to her chest, in that damn corner next to the fire alarm she didn't pull. One of them reaches out to her, and she simply falls apart, arms limp and no motivation to move at all. They manage to stand her up and walk her out of the bathroom. She passes Chloe. Passes the body. Her legs give out. She's carried the rest of the way.

They bring her to an ambulance that's waiting outside, wrap a blanket around her, and tell her that she's in shock. They're not wrong.

* * *

After a brief check up at the hospital, she's driven to the police station. They ask her questions. What did you see? What did you hear? She manages a couple words, enough for them to jot down a brief statement. They ask her why she didn't leave the bathroom after Nathan was led away, she says it's because she was scared. She doesn't tell them the truth. She doesn't tell them that Chloe didn't deserve to be left alone again.

* * *

When they release her, Max makes her way to the lighthouse. _You can't escape the lighthouse, here…_ It's a long walk, and her legs are burning, but she doesn't care. The sun is setting on Arcadia Bay, and the ocean twinkles in the orange light. It would be beautiful if the world wasn't so fucked up. Max sits on the bench, overlooking the town she saved. The town she sacrificed the best damn thing in her life for. _You were there today, Max. You saved me!_ The dam breaks and heaving sobs wrack her chest. _Yes, I was there…_

* * *

The only time Max leaves her room for a week is to see Mark Jefferson led from Blackwell with a police escort. She stands next to Kate, arm wrapped around her shoulders protectively, glaring daggers at the man she once trusted. A sense of satisfaction settles in her chest when they lock eyes, and she knows that he knows. He knows that Maxine Caulfield was the one who ended his life. It's the best thing she's done in this reality.  
She wants to spit at him, and she almost does, but Kate lets out a whimper, and Max focuses her attention back on the girl in her arms. Kate is more important than the waste of oxygen that is Jefferson, and she wants him to know that she will no longer give him the time of day.  
No one will.

* * *

The days leading up to the funeral are a blur. Before she knows it, she's at the lighthouse again, gazing down at Arcadia Bay to remind herself that this is right. She made the right choice. The only thing that reminds her of that is Chloe. _We have to. We have to save everybody, okay?_ Max turns and heads for the graveyard.  
She's the last one there, and takes her place between Warren and Joyce. She want's so badly to comfort the woman who has become her second mother, but she has no right. She can't even look at her.

Max can't hear the priest. She can't hear anything but her heart pounding in her ears. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots it. A blue butterfly. It lands right on the coffin, right where Chloe's pale face is hidden under polished wood. And she feels something move in her soul. A calm that is so out of place in this strange and tragic week. A calm she only felt when she was holding her best friend. It's barely there, but a smile tugs at her lips. Chloe is here. Chloe understands. It's not much, but it's enough for now. And she whispers,

"I'll always love you, too."


	2. Finalized

After the funeral, the sense of calm that had settled over Max fades. It's back to numbness with the steady pang of regret. Her parents text her, and when she does not respond they call her. She answers in a monotone, saying as little as possible. They suggest that she come home. She refuses.

There are things in Arcadia Bay that she still needs to do, and if she leaves she's not sure she would be able to come back.

Max only goes between classes and her dorm. Occasionally Warren or Kate will come by her room, and they will sit in silence for a while. They don't know what to say, and she can't find the energy to start a conversation. But their presence is slightly comforting.

They remind her of what she saved.

* * *

She's been waking in cold sweats. Every time she sleeps she re-lives that final nightmare, only now Chloe is not there when she wakes up. The lack of sleep makes her feel drowsy, and the drowsiness reminds her of a drug-induced stupor. She feels the needle in her neck with every cold sting of wind. Every flash of light is her image being captured in Jefferson's sick aesthetic.

She stops taking photographs.

* * *

It's been nearly two weeks now, and Max stands outside the Two Whales diner. She plays nervously with the scarf around her neck. They used to make her feel stuffy, but now she feels exposed without one.

It takes her a good half an hour to finally enter. She almost walks away a grand total of four times, but if she ever intends to move on, this is something she needs to do. The same country guitar rattles from the jukebox. It's incredibly nostalgic, but she's not sure she likes the feeling anymore. She stands at the entryway until a patron accidentally nudges her on the way out, and she's knocked out of her trance and takes a few tentative steps forward.

The news drones in the background. No mention of snowfalls or eclipses or giant tornadoes.

She has to remind herself to walk, and step by step she makes her way to the second to last booth on the right. Max plops herself down on the faded seat. She's at a loss. She didn't think she would get this far. After a few minutes a waitress who is not Joyce makes her way over with a cup of coffee. Max manages to mumble a question as to where Joyce is, and the waitress tells her that Joyce is still on leave.

She's still mourning the loss of her only child.

Max lets her coffee go cold as she stares at the seat across from her. She thinks about panda key chains and parking tickets and cigarettes and spare change.

"It's a shame about Joyce's girl." She hears a police officer tell her partner.

"I'll say. Poor woman has been through enough."

"Can hardly say I'm surprised though. Girl was in too deep. It was only a matter of time."

Max leaves. It's all she can do not to scream.

* * *

Kate comes by her dorm later that night. There seems to be an unspoken agreement between her and Warren, one of them drops by to check on Max every night. If Max didn't feel so unworthy, she would be touched.

She brings Bunny Marsh this time, and Max can't help the smile that tugs at her lips.

"Don't hide, Max." Kate says while Max is snuggling the bunny. "Please. You're always helping others. Let others help you." Max feels tears prickle at her eyes. _Even angels need angels, Max_. Her hand finds Kate's and she squeezes. Kate squeezes back.

Her heart lifts a little.

* * *

Max stands outside the Price home. She makes sure not to look at the old pick up truck that Chloe swept her away in. But there is no way to ignore the blue paint that only makes it halfway to the roof. _Don't forget to tell them that you killed me_. Her heart crawls into her 's shaking, but she rings the doorbell before she can think better of it. _I need to do this. I can do this._

 _No, no I can't._ She's turning to go when the door creaks open.

"Max?" Joyce gasps and Max flinches, all hope of escape is lost. "Oh, Max!" Suddenly Joyce is on the porch with her arms wrapped tightly around her.

They stay like that for a long time, just clinging to each other. Max briefly wonders if it's because they are the closest thing to Chloe that the other has.

When they finally separate, Joyce leads Max inside to the dinner table and sits down across from her. Max's eye catches the wine stain on the carpet, and her heart drops to her stomach.

"Max, you have no idea how good it is to see you." Joyce takes her hands form across the table. "I wasn't sure I would see you again after… after the funeral…" Her voice is thick with emotion, and Max interrupts because she can not stand to see Joyce cry again.

"Of course Joyce. You're my family, too. Whatever you and David need, I'm here for you." She squeezes lightly.

It's the least she can say after killing their daughter.

* * *

After an hour of polite conversation with intermissions of silence, Max makes her way upstairs. She walks straight past Chloe's room, not even sparing it a glance. She wants to stall as long as possible. Her converse tap lightly on the tile floor of the bathroom. She turns on the faucet to drown out the sound of her heartbeat and splashes her face to calm her nerves. _You are okay. This was the right choice. This_ was _the right choice._

Bracing her hands on either side of the sink, she practices the deep breathing exercises that Warren taught her during on of her panic attacks. _In, one two three four, out, one two three four_ …

She lifts her head and a shock of blue catches her eye. Sitting in plain sight on the counter is electric blue hair dye. A whimper escapes her throat.

Breathing doesn't help anymore, because she doesn't deserve to.

* * *

She stands outside the door now, eyes tracing the warning signs that stick to the same door that used to hang childish illustrations and word art. She almost knocks, but thinks better of it. Of course no one would answer. There is nothing to quiet the sound of the blood rushing through her veins as she touches the doorknob with caution, as if there was a fire raging on the other side. The doorknob gently turns and Max forces herself inside before she can talk herself out of it. Closing the door behind her, now it's only her and the past and the memories of another reality, another reality when Chloe is dancing on the bed, with smoke caressing her body, her face.

Her legs are jelly, but she manages to stagger over to the drawer where Chloe's very first cellphone lies in the top drawer, resting on top of all of their illustrated adventures that only the innocence of children could imagine. The pressure is building in her chest, it's pounding on her ribs, telling Max that she _fucked_ up. Chloe should be here. Chloe _deserves_ to be here. The writing on Chloe's walls scream at her, reminding her that Chloe was lonely. Chloe was abandoned.  
There's a shoebox on the desk. It's been shuffled through recently, by Joyce or Chloe, she doesn't know. But whats inside make Max want to die.

William's camera sits on top. Max picks it up gingerly, as if it were glass. This was a gift to her, from Chloe. It was. That was the other reality, but Max isn't sure whats real and whats not anymore.

Old pictures lie underneath, and as she studies one in particular, her heart fully and completely shatters. It's the two of them, Max and Chloe, and on the reverse side is scribbled and frenzied handwriting. " _Everyone leaves._ " There's a slight discoloration on the corner, possibly a tear, probably a tear, because as tough as Chloe was her heart was fragile and broken and had shed more sorrow than she would ever admit. And the realization that Max has been avoiding all along hits her full in the gut. _This is the best farewell gift I could have asked for_. Their memories in that final week. They never happened.

Sure, Max knows, but Chloe didn't. Chloe Price, her best friend, the one who set her soul at ease, her _other half_ , died on a cold bathroom floor thinking that everyone she had ever loved abandoned her. This Chloe, the final, definite Chloe, didn't know about Rachel, or Frank, or David or _Max_. All she knew was loneliness.

That's the final straw. Arcadia Bay be _damned,_ Chloe deserves better. Max fights back the tears. She can fix this. The photo right in front of her, she can go back. She can tell Chloe everything. Maybe she wouldn't believe her at first, but over time she would come to realize that Max was there with her. For everything. Maybe she could avoid the Nathan situation all together, and if not, if she dies again (the thought nearly makes Max physically ill), Chloe would know she was not alone.

Max stares at the photo with unwavering will. It comes into focus, two young faces staring back at her. And Max pictures herself in that photograph. Sends herself, her whole _being_ into that photograph.

Nothing happens.

She tries again, breathing harder and labored. She focuses on every finite detail of the photo until her eyes are aching and her head is spinning, but she remains in an empty room full of altered memories and broken promises.

Max is in full on panic now. "No, no, please please please…" She knocks over a frame in desperation, glass shattering as it hits the ground, and reaches out her hand, willing for time to reverse and the frame to fix itself.

Nothing happens.

She tries again, and again, and again, straining everything she is to make time go back, go back and fix the frame, and see Chloe, and hold Chloe again because it's not _fucking_ fair.

Her powers are gone. And so is a part of Max that will never, never be recovered.

Her knees give out and her hands slam to the ground in frustration.

" ** _Fuck!_** " She hardly recognizes her voice, it's broken just like her.

For a moment, all she knows is the world crashing down around her, and why why _why_ would she have this power only to fuck things up, fix it, and make it as though nothing happened? Nothing has changed? What's the point of a second chance if the only person that mattered will never know?

She must have been crying, rather loudly too, because she feels arms around her and hears Joyce's soft voice in her ear, one hand stroking through her hair in an attempt to calm her. It doesn't, but Max throws herself into Joyce's arms, mumbling apologies into her shoulder. There's red on Joyce's shirt, and Max vaguely registers a stinging in her hand. She must have slammed her palm on a shard of glass, but she doesn't care. She deserves worse. She tries to focus on that pain, on the sting of the glass in her skin but it's not enough. The pain of losing Chloe is far more real than any physical wound.

And this time there is no bringing her back.


End file.
